A Rhythm on the Dirt
by ESP
Summary: A collection of poems about a Rurouni... what internal guilt and selfloathing can do to one who wanders aimlessly. Told from various POV's, explores several poetry styles
1. Endless Cycle

A Rhythm on the Dirt 

My feet patter on quietly

The never-ending cycle

A pounding in my mind

Nothing can cure the hurt

I have inflicted so violently

The never-ending cycle

I'll never leave it behind

Onward I travel

Day by day, I endlessly wander

Looking, always looking

From behind my endless grin

Eternally I marvel

I concentrate, I ponder

Looking, always looking

For my atonement for my sin

This is my penance

This is my crime

The weight I carry for all time.

And as my feet pitter-patter

I feel my sins drawing

But I accept my punishment

And silently await my soul to shatter.


	2. Self Destruction

My Course of Self-Destruction 

My course of self-destruction set

I haven't served my sentence yet 

But every step I take reminds

My heart and mind of different times 

My shuffling feet and dragging gait

Serve to prove my troubled state

As can be seen by every sway 

And unsettled stumble along the way

My companion, Guilt, is one to dwell

And I, The Traveler, cannot expel

His terrible grip and just attack

I bear His weight on my sinful back

I have a lifetime to repent

To immerse myself in earned torment

I have an era to descend

Into the misery that is my end 


	3. Sad, Sad Child

Swordsmen drift through these parts now and then

We watch them pass, wonder where they've been

Their swords discarded, but the calluses remain

Samurai of past, oh, you poor broken men

On this day saw I one such warrior of pain

By watching his gait, I knew he had slain  

This sad, sad child (for he looked but sixteen)

Carried more than his share of bloodshed's strains

Small was his height, his hair's color obscene

But in my heart I felt what this child had seen

A scar marred his otherwise delicate face

Testament to a soul that will never be clean

All this in a glance, for fast was his pace

And the rest of the town gave him his space

The sword he carried warned them away

Its swing by his side the essence of grace  

"A sword in this era? What a wicked display"

"Don't get too close, or there's hell to pay"

But there was no falter in this damned soul's sway

And I realized this sad wanderer would find no place to stay. 


	4. Rubbing Hands Raw

The acrid scent of blood 

overwhelms my senses

the metallic tang 

distracts me from all else. 

I whip the crimson liquid 

from my blade 

with a habitual twist of the wrist

flecking the fear-stained earth 

with the scent of death. 

The quiet is almost tangible

I breathe in 

the stillness 

like poison. 

I feel as if I am 

the only being left 

to experience the silence of the world.

Oh, that I had known 

of the world 

before I made my choice! 

Before this day

I had been a passionate person

hopeful

confidant

with enough empathy to share.

 I was such a child.

Now

all I feel is the familiar resentment

tinged with wary thoughts

and forced, cold apathy 

I carefully mop up the dripping blood 

from the smooth steel 

until it gleams. 

When I first started this job

being indifferent to the blood

was a struggle.

Now

the scent seems to cling to me.

In the beginning

ignoring the agonized screams was hard. 

Now

my victims don't have time

to scream. 

I am the perfect Hitokiri

Who of you will do as I do? 

Who else can? 

I toss the bloody rag 

it lands over the corpses 

I snap my weapon shut 

with a resounding click.

Walk away coolly

Like murdering ten men 

in one night

doesn't haunt my soul. 

I am the assassin in the shadows 

I am not meant to be human. 

However

tonight 

will be spent

rubbing

the scarlet spatters from my clothes

threadbare

Tonight

will be spent

scrubbing

my blood covered hands

raw


	5. Frost Kissed Lips

Frost Kissed Lips

I remember the white frost

And the way it kissed her reddened lips

I remember how she carved my cross

And the spattering of crimson drips

I remember her dark, silken tresses

Stark against the white

How they cascaded down her bloodstained dresses

Like an angel who's lost her flight 

I remember pain

In my soul, in heart and mind

I remember pain

Mine and hers in kind 

I remember her trembling struggle to breathe

And the way we shuddered together

Yes, I remember holding my lovely sheathe 

But she wasn't made of leather 

Every detail, etched in so deep

Flashes of these memories plague me

And the frigidness begins to seep

It gets lighter, yet harder to see

I'm waiting for the blankness of snow

To blend with the ivory of her face

And for her dewy skin to bestow

The forgiveness for my disgrace 

So I weave through pow'dry drifts

Warm and salty droplets streaming

Begging her, please, repair the rifts

Only later will I realize I'd been screaming.


End file.
